Ice Maiden
by Talutha
Summary: When ice cutters discover a woman's body in a frozen lake, Grima begins an investigation that cuts to the heart of the Golden Hall. ON HOLD
1. Default Chapter

In the winter, when the snows deafened the eye, and extra layers of clothing were placed first on the horses shaggy coats, then on the people who rode them (in that order, exactly); in winter, when fires burned that bit brighter, singing the edges of the darkness, and of robes left to dry in their glow; in winter, the ice cutters came.

He was meant to have been raised in a warmer clime, he thought, although he could not be sure of it. But he was sure of this: when the ice cutters arrived, it was cold enough for his skin to shrink away from the frosted air, and wrap itself more tightly around his muscles and bones, cold enough for his fingers to begin to twist and swell and cause him pain. They had been broken – all of them but one – in the past, and by the end of a cold winter here in this godsforsaken pit, they had twisted into dead spider shapes and didn't thaw until springs warmth coaxed them back to normalcy. It was almost as if the ice cutters themselves brought the cold with them, and for that he despised them. That wasn't all that unusual in itself – he despised a great many things in his life, and looked forward to despising a great many more before his end. But the ice cutters were so… jolly, with their red suits and red hats, and noses red also, from the cold. And the people loved them. The first few days of the ice season were almost like a festival, with dancing and feasting, and of course the eternal games of skill on horseback. Off horseback then on, on then off, side to side and around the horses' bellies – was there no end? And through it all he smiled thinly, (his lips seemed to shrink away from the cold as well), and tucked his aching fingers further into the sleeves of his extra robes. Eomer so often laughed at him – as did many of the young men here, covertly or otherwise – at his hatred of the cold, and dismay when the first frost ferns decorated the windows of the Halls. The young warrior's pale sister was, at least, more guarded in her mockery and for that he was grateful. She greeted the ice cutters with cool reserve, and avoided touching their hands, where her people eagerly crowded around to receive the traditional blessing of luck from the ice cutters' mitts. Once an eager cutter had seized both of her hands, pale and slim, in his own two red mittened paws and shaken them joyfully before whirling away and repeating the blessing over and over in the crowd. She had stood still for a moment looking at him as he retreated, then carefully wiped her fingers on her skirts, and turned toward the great doors of the Hall. Her face had seemed to him then to be moulding itself after the icy peaks in the distance.

Ice cutting was a tricky business, he had been told. The job of the cutter was to select the perfect blocks of ice – near to the beginning of the ice season was best, before the ice had had a chance to get tough as it was late in the season. Once the cutter had selected his block, he then cut it from the surrounding ice as square as he could manage. The block was then transported to the town where it was carefully packed in a box of straw with others to await the warmer seasons. It was then taken to a small dark room at the back of a house where it was kept, again packed in soft straw. The idea was that the ice kept the flesh pressed against it in the darkness from becoming rancid for at least a little longer.

**

Wickedly sharp, with a blade specially shaped for cutting, his brother Hulte had made the ice axe for him. Einal appreciated it as a craftsman appreciates his finest tool. Maybe even more so, because it was Hulte who gave it to him. It sliced through the ice easily, and Einal almost felt its joy as he shaped a block with it. Today his team was assigned to Bakra's Cauldron, a small deep lake that regularly provided quality ice at this time of the season. The people of Edoras, outside of Ice Season, rarely visited Bakra's Cauldron. It was half a day's ride from the town, appearing suddenly in the grasslands like a miracle in the ground. In the warmer months it was slightly brackish, fed by seeping groundwater rather than an underground spring. Several trees gathered on the north shore, bare and rattling in winter, bare and dead in summer. He had heard that it was once a popular trysting place for young lovers from Edoras, but for the last decade, noone had come here. He did not know why. He supposed that with the fickle faddishness of the youth, the Cauldron had been replaced by another favoured location. The three skeletal trees provided enough shelter for his team to set up a small fire to brew some of the strong tea favoured by ice cutters, before marking and grooving the blocks for removal. Einal, team captain, sat to one side, cup of tea in one hand and ice axe in the other. Hulte had carved a repeated pattern of leaves down the heft and handle, and Einal had worn it down with rubbing it. Warm fragrant steam condensed on his face as he sipped at the brew. One of his younger cutters, a boy named Elden, tossed his birch bark cup to one side, wiped his mouth with one mittened hand, and hefted his axe to his shoulder.

"Aye lad, you get started with the marking, and we'll be there to groove the blocks," Einal said. Elden nodded and walked out onto the ice. He stood for a moment, mentally marking his blocks, then walked a few steps and knelt to pound in a peg to mark one corner. Einal watched him raise his axe, peg in hand, and then saw him falter and the axe fall from his grip and spin away from him across the frozen surface. Einal tossed his cup aside and rose to join the boy on the ice. Elden's eyes were fixed to a point below the end of his peg. Einal followed his stricken gaze.

Visible beneath the milky surface of the ice was a woman's hand, still fingers curled as if in invitation.

Einal knelt by Elden and pressed two mittened finger to the surface where her fingers almost broke through. By now the others had stood, clustered at the Cauldron's edge.

"What is it, Einal?"

"Is it the ice? Is it breaking up this year?"

Einal held up his hand for silence and stood, hooking his other hand beneath Elden's arm and dragging him up. Einal gently pushed the boys toward the others, still craning their necks and murmuring amongst themselves. A curl of fear pushed through his gut. 

He looked up at his team and gestured back toward Edoras.

"We'll be cutting nothing here today, lads. Elden, you and Serte head back to Edoras now, and tell Hama all that you have seen here."

Elden nodded and tugged the older Serte towards the horses. Wentha, Einal's team second, edged toward him across the ice.

"What is it, Einal? Fractures?"

Einal looked at him, shook his head, and pointed to the spot at his feet. Wentha crossed the short distance, and looked down.

Then he knelt and took a closer look.

"There's someone under here," he said, his voice rough. "A lass, frozen with the Cauldron I'd bet."

He looked away. Einal nodded.

"Aye. Its serious business, Wentha."

**

Grima regarded the boy's ruddy cheeks with a measure of distaste. Hama was kneeling with the lad before the great fireplace in the Hall, listening with a frown to the tale he told. Eomer and his lieutenant, dark complected Rade, had also drawn near, ale mugs in hand, to listen. Einal, leader of the cutter team, stood unhappily to one side, while the rest of his team lingered in a corner. The lad, Elden, had ridden in a half-hour ahead of his team, and Hama had seen him almost immediately. 

"No Sir, I did not see more. Just a lady's hand. Under the ice."

Hama glanced up at Einal, who nodded tersely.

"Aye. That's all that's visible, but I'd wager there's more under there."

Eomer swallowed his last mouthful of ale, and wiped his mouth. He glanced at Rade. 

"I doubt that this is worthy of your notice, Hama. Doubtless whoever this unfortunate was, she is beyond all aid now."

Rade nodded. "Likely a victim of orc attacks. This shows that what I have been saying about stepping up patrols is not baseless, Hama."

Hama was silent for a moment, his burly form still in a pose that Grima recognised as thought.

__

He needs to be completely still to allow the blood to redirect from his muscles, Grima supposed. _Somewhat uncharitable of me._

"I disagree, Lord Eomer, Rade. I believe this to be very much worthy of my attention," Hama replied, his voice a little strained.

There was a moment of silence, and Grima felt himself twitching in silent amusement. Perhaps it was time to sway the balance of the scene in his favour.

"Well, such a mystery as we have here…. I agree with the redoubtable Lord Hama," he said softly. The assembled others looked up with varying degrees of surprise. He had been mostly ensconced in the shadows, and stepped forward as he spoke, inserting himself between Hama and the lad.

"Every life in Rohan in under this man's protection. Besides… There is one name that I have not yet heard uttered here. Doubtless you are aware of that name, Lord Eomer."

"And you shall not utter it, snake," Hama rumbled, his attention turning to Grima. "Her name is not fit to pass your lips."

Grima shrugged slightly and spread his hands in a gesture of peace.

"And so it shall not, Lord Hama. I merely suggest that it may need to be said by somebody."

But silence followed, and rang from the rafters of the Golden Hall.

The name, of course, was Leah. It was almost impossible for any present to imagine that it might not be. The lass was a favourite in the Hall, Eowyn's handmaiden, possessed of a marvellous singing voice and fond of markplums, a small fruit that grew close to the ground in small patches on the Mark. She was also Hama's niece, and had not been seen for several weeks. Hama himself had led searches, riding in widening, maddening circles around Edoras and across the far reaching frosted grasslands, until his mount and his men were lathered despite winter's cold. It was assumed that the girl had been killed by an orc raiding party that had struck at an outlying settlement before carving a swathe of destruction across the Riddermark. They had angled closer to Edoras than had been forecast, and several townspeople had been caught in their path. Leah's body had never been found. But, thought Grima, her body was suddenly here in the room with them, all around them, and he could almost smell the rancid scent of decomposition as he looked at the faces of the men around him. His nostrils twitched. Hama's face sank into crags and lines, then lifted as he caught himself. Rade nodded slowly.

"That must be it, then. It must be… Leah."

"What must be Leah?"

The voice came from behind them, brittle and edged. Grima's spine contracted, and he turned to face her.

"Eowyn, this cannot concern you," her brother said brusquely. Her face grew set and steely.

"And yet despite that, I ask again, Eomer – what about Leah?"

Grima remained silent, awaiting the answer. None was offered by any assembled, and Eowyn's expression remained unchanged.

Einal cleared his throat. "Forgive me if this is not my place, Lady, but – my cutters found a body this morning… in the ice."

"And are you certain that it is… her?" she murmured, her expression shifting to real confusion. Grima was fascinated by the play of emotion across her features. He would have expected grief, or denial, or even anger – but this was genuine confusion, as if the lady was taken by surprise. He decided to answer her question.

"So it would appear to those of us here, Lady. Did she not vanish at a time when the ice was beginning to form? This alone supports the… identity… of the poor, unfortunate girl."

He watched closely as her face relaxed into familiar lines, closed and pacific – a mask that she wore, that he longed to prise away.

"Indeed," she said coolly. "This is terrible news, Lord Hama. I… I am grieved. Excuse me." She nodded to her brother and Lord Hama, and glanced fleetingly in Grima's direction, her eyes flashing momentarily, as if full of something she could barely contain within her skin. Eomer watched her go through narrowed eyes. Across from him, Grima mirrored his expression, observing both of them closely. He had had too much experience at hiding things himself not to see the signs of things withheld and things implied. Beneath the exquisite surface of her skin, she was holding something to herself, something which directly affected the disappearance of the maid Leah. Grima glanced at Eomer once more. He was to one side, whispering animatedly to Rade, while Hama dismissed Elden. As much as Grima wished to hear every syllable uttered by the two Riders, he had a fairer quarry in mind. He turned silently and followed her. There was something afoot here, and he very much wished to be a part of it.


	2. chapter 2

__

(A/N: I owe a teeny debt to Werecat99's excellent story "Mater Tenebraum" for one image in this chapter. This chapter is a short one, but the one that follows is giving me grief to edit, so I'll put this forward in the meantime. It would really help at this point if you could give your impressions of what seems to be going on in the story. I feel I may be a bit obvious… )

She went directly to her chamber and closed the door. Within, he could hear her pacing, and laughing a soft bitter laugh. After a moment, she opened the door, and stepped across the threshold, only to have Rade stride toward her down the passage, and push past her into her rooms. She stepped back from him gracefully, and left the door open, affording Grima an excellent view of the proceedings. 

Eowyn's eyes were spears, and pinned him to the wall. She drew her face even with his.

"Why have you followed me here?" she hissed. "You are unwelcome within the walls of my chambers!"

He looked away for a moment, then raised brown eyes flecked with gold to meet her gaze with a measure of false resolve.

"I came to thank you, Lady, for not compromising me."

She stepped back and shot him a look that may have disembowelled a lesser man.

"I did not even think of compromising you, Rade. I did not think of you at all. I thought only of Leah."

She moistened her lips and swallowed – words she knew should remain unvoiced, it seemed - and stepped back again.

"Now leave."

Rade straightened, and thrust his chest out in an attempt to reassert his own presence, before leaving the lady's chambers in four long strides.

From his vantagepoint in an alcove in the hall opposite her open door– to be precise, behind a statue in the alcove – Grima had watched the scene unfold with some interest. Rade, favoured by Eomer among the Rohirrim for his skill and for his loyalty, was in a position to be compromised. With Hama's missing niece. Eowyn was certainly keeping secrets, but Grima was fully aware that the lady contained more dark places than perhaps even her brother was aware of. He watched her posture relax slightly, and her face rearrange itself into a more pleasant shape, and one pale hand reach for the clasp of her over dress as the other reached for the door and closed it firmly.

Grima remained in place for a moment, then began to ease himself out from behind the statue. His vision clouded for a moment with the memory of Eowyn reaching one hand for her dress clasp; and other, older memories, of a dusty crawlspace between walls, and Grima, like a rat, wedged in silent voyeuristic fantasies as she slept or bathed. He brushed a hand absently down the front of his robe as he straightened.

"Wormtongue. Lurking outside my cousin's chamber, seeking a beating?"

Theodred, tall and straight, head tilted to one side, cheeks like apples, stood before him, arms crossed.

"Hiding behind statues Grima? When you are not taken with poisoning my father?"

Grima felt his lip begin an instinctive curl of dismay. Idiot boy. He was neither imposing nor startling in his statements of the obvious. Grima pictured Theodred's death in battle, his final words "Oh, I've got an orc attached to my throat and I'm going to die!" _Influence, _Grima reflected bitterly,_ is best held by those who have the intelligence to use it effectively, not those who stand about in hallways making unimaginative threats. _

"Forgive me, I was merely standing to one side, so that I would not impede your progress."

Theodred paused, and Grima caught a glint of something approaching cruelty in his eye.

"Actually, you have no need. I have merely come to visit my cousin."

A small smile curled his lips, and he turned away from Grima and knocked on the door, announcing himself. Then, without awaiting a response, he opened it and entered, closing it behind him. For a moment, Grima envied him that simple intimacy. Then he turned and headed toward the King's chambers.


	3. chapter 3

When he reached Theoden's chamber, Eomer was already there. 

"Uncle, all our intelligence suggests that there is another orc party massing just inside the borders of Mordor. Do you recall when they came so close to Edoras itself that your own valet was caught on their long knives?"

His voice was low and intense, and Grima heard with some degree of pleasure the twisting frustration that punctuated every word. He inserted himself by Theoden's side, and laid a flat gaze across Eomer's face.

"Not to doubt the intelligence of your Rohirrim, Lord, but how can you be sure that they intend to attack Edoras itself, when you and I both know that they can stand no chance of ever breaching the walls?"

Eomer's jaw clenched, and he set angry eyes on an unflinching Grima.

"I was discussing a matter of state with the King, Wormtongue. I do not recall requesting your opinion."

Theoden stirred, gesturing vaguely at his tall nephew.

"Grima is knowledgeable about these things. Listen to his advice, Rider."

Eomer's left eye twitched as his uncle's unfocussed gaze skipped over his face and sought Grima's.

"Furthermore," Grima continued, "Mobilising a full defence of the city in the middle of winter will take up labour and resources that we can ill afford at present. Don't you agree, Theoden King?"

The aged and frail looking husk seated by the glowing brazier, formerly a powerful King of an influential nation, nodded, and closed rheumy eyes in an apparent doze.

***

Hama, Rade, Einal the ice cutter and a small group of spearbearers set out for Bakra's Cauldron the following day. From the terrace, Grima watched them depart, long legged ponies spraying great gouts of snow behind them as they left the city. If it were indeed the unfortunate Leah, frozen like a hibernating trout beneath the ice, it would have been almost worth the day's riding to see Rade's response. The men had no plans to excavate the corpse from the Cauldron unless it could be conclusively proven to be Leah. Spring's thaws would achieve that for them. No, their motivations for going were mixed, Grima suspected, and entirely personal. He shivered and withdrew further into his layers of clothing. He would stay with Theoden today, and perhaps gain a few moments with Eowyn. With one final glance across the frozen Mark at the rapidly retreating figures of the riders, he turned and entered the gloom of the Hall.

***

Ice. When he was a lad, Hama had spent a winter with an ice cutting team. It was then that he had gotten one of his most imposing scars, a rough edged gash running from the tip of his left thumb to half way up his forearm, curving gently with the shape of the muscles under the skin. He rubbed at his arm now, remembering the sensation of the ice axe sliding through his flesh, cold from the ice, the singular way that blood ran steaming across a frozen surface. Ice had a strange effect on bare flesh, painful but deadening. _Deadening_. He hoped she had been dead when the ice covered her flesh. Einal was using a fine pick with a startling delicacy to remove the ice, chip by chip, from the hand just below the surface. He had begun by boiling some snow in a kettle over a small fire and pouring it over the ice in the spot that he wanted to thin, before almost immediately brushing all the liquid aside with a small bristled brush to stop any refreeze. He repeated this several times until the ice had seemed to change colour, to darken, and the hand became more visible. Then he had slowly knelt, and begun to chisel and pick the ice away from the slender fingers. Rade had set the spearmen a short distance away, where they stood, vigilant, spears tipped outwards. Hama stood with Rade to one side of the Cauldron, beneath the skeletal trees, by the small fire. Neither man watched Einal as he worked. Hama bent and added a handful of dried herbs to the kettle, which was once again boiling.

"Cutters Tea, Rade. It warms the blood, and lends courage."

Rade looked askance at him and accepted a cup of the steaming tea. "Courage, Hama?"

The other man looked away, toward Einal's hunched figure.

"I requested that the cutter expose the hand for a reason," Hama said finally. Rade looked away and remained silent, waiting for the Doorwarden to continue.

"It is the left hand. A maid's left hand. Leah… had a scar across her palm, a long, deep scar. If there is a scar on this hand…"

"Perhaps this is another maiden, Hama. I do not believe it is Leah at all."

Hama looked at him. "And a small part of me hopes that it is," he said softly.

Rade nodded silently. On the ice, Einal rose and approached them.

"I need another kettle of water Sire, to finish. I've come as close as I dared, but, well, I don't wish to … damage the flesh." He dropped his gaze.

Hama lifted the kettle and took his first step onto the ice.

***

Grima spent the morning with Theoden. The old man spent much of his winter by his brazier in his rooms. Eowyn visited often, imploring him to leave his den, to put on his outer garments and walk through his city.

"Your people love you, My Lord, but they begin to believe that you –"

"He is King, Lady," Grima interrupted, " but also a man whose aging bones do not love the cold." He shrugged his own hands into his sleeves to illustrate his point. "Our people need a King who is well and fit, and able to lead -- not one who cannot walk over ice, or who coughs with constant pneumonia. Why do you wish your uncle so much ill will?"

"It is not my uncle for whom my wishes are ill," she replied, turning her cutting gaze on him. He did not flinch away. In his chair, the old man snored softly and a curl of smoke rose from the brazier. Eowyn sniffed suddenly, scenting the air like a hare might sniff for danger. She turned to the glowing brazier.

"What herbs do you burn in my uncle's rooms?"

Grima regarded her for a moment. "Why, the bundle your handmaid left for him yestereve, Lady," he replied smoothly. " Coltstail, bloodleaf and, I believe, a little scented _mearthim_ as well."

"It is not the scent of _mearthim_ in this room. There is something else…"

Grima shrugged eloquently. "I burn only what herbs I was given, Lady. Perhaps there was a fourth that I did not notice or recognise. I am not skilled in such matters." He shugged again, and creased his lips upward into the semblance of a smile.

She sniffed once more, then turned and left the room. Grima sniffed the air, and then produced a small shred of _mearthim_ from his robe and dropped it on the coals. The sweet scent quickly covered the bitterness of the herbs that had been burning there before.

***

Across the Mark, the Doorwarden of the Meduseld wept reluctant tears that seemed to freeze on his face. The naked, discoloured hand protruding from the ice, fingers still curled, blurred into nothing as the ice cutter's hand descended to the larger man's shoulder.

"That's it then?" Einal asked. Hama nodded. A white line cut across the blotched skin on the palm from the base of the first finger to the opposite corner of the hand, above the wrist, ending half an inch above the surface of the ice. 

"That's it." Hama's voice was rough. "What am I going to tell her mother?"

Above him, Einal turned to Rade and nodded. Rade looked away, and told his spearmen to prepare to return to Edoras.


	4. chapter 4

When they returned to the Golden Hall, Grima and Eowyn awaited them on the terrace above the green stone fountain. He had caught sight of her lingering by the fountain earlier, trailing two fingers across its cold surface and peering intently at the frozen water as if to somehow divine secrets beneath the icy crust. During winter, the flow from the springhead slowed a little, allowing an icy crust to form around the lip of the green stone bowl beneath the horse's head. Small icicles formed around the head's spewing mouth and small children often broke them off and licked them for luck before thrusting the "whiskers" into pockets and letting them melt. In a moment of whimsy, Grima had imitated them, snapping an icy whisker from the fountainhead, and touching it to his tongue. It tasted of nothing but slightly metallic ice. Eowyn repeated the ritual now, as he watched unseen from the terrace above her. One slim pale hand slipped out from a heavy sleeve and caressed a small shaft of ice for a moment, fingers running up and down its length and lingering on the tip. Grima blinked and swallowed hard. Then swiftly, suddenly, the fingers snapped it off and held it for a moment, hidden within their fleshy grip. Then it reappeared to be touched to a pink tongue, licked along its length, base to tip. Tiny white teeth grazed the top of it before it disappeared once more into a firm, warm flesh grip. _Maybe that's what luck tastes like_, Grima thought intently as he clenched his hands in his pockets. He stepped back from the edge of the terrace as she glanced up, and was thankful for his layers of robes. One day he would not have to hide, but today was not that day. He shivered despite his heat. The sun was just a pale red sliver on the wintry horizon. Edoras was lit from within by lamps and candles and cookfires. He paused and gazed down the main street, punctuated by squares of yellow light. Soon full night would wrap him in its secrets. Perhaps… 

Eowyn mounting the terrace steps and seemed surprised to see him there. She paused by him and said, "They are returning. Please inform my uncle. I will see to their supper."

Then she turned away from him and as she moved past him, he could see the icicle, still lightly gripped between her fingers. He caught his breath once more, and waited for a moment to compose himself before glancing at the riders approaching through the town.

Now that they had reached the main Way, they slowed. The horses looked almost as exhausted as their riders. At the foot of the terrace, they left the horses and mounted the steps wearily. The Spearbearers took their leave of their lieutenant, and Einal took Hama's hand and shook it in the traditional blessing before nodding to Rade and departing for his own lodging. Hama paused for a moment, and followed Rade inside. Grima observed both men closely as they passed him, taking in Hama's grief and Rade's uneasy expression. When he was once more alone on the terrace, he allowed himself the luxury of a raised eyebrow and a wondering expression before following the Doorwarden and the lieutenant into the yellow-lit Hall.

Rade was silent as Hama explained all that had occurred . Grima watched them both closely. His nostrils twitched. Hama was stricken, grieving for his niece. Rade looked… well, almost guilty. Reflexively, Grima's gaze shifted to Eowyn. She stood between her brother and her doltish cousin, both of whom were exchanging glances over her head. Eowyn herself was wearing her customary set expression, but to an experienced observer of her nature, such as Grima, her eyes spoke volumes. Confusion, concern… guilt? Grima flicked his gaze again across to Rade. The warrior's face mirrored hers, but with far less experience in hiding behind false expression. Despite himself, Grima was intrigued. He closed his eyes for a moment to allow the tension in the air to wash over him. Rade was hiding something that was eating at him. Grima wondered if he had killed the girl. Eowyn was involved. How? How could she be involved with the death of her maid, if Rade committed the act? Eomer and Theodred were also keeping secrets, Grima suspected, although far less successfully. However, in all of this, Rade would be the easiest target if approached carefully enough. Carefully, slowly, craftily… Grima gave himself a quick internal grin. He was suddenly intrigued by this mystery. Winter in the Riddermark could be diresomely dull, and Theoden was well under Grima's own power of subtle suggestion. Covertly, he observed Rade glancing at Eowyn more than once, and Eowyn glancing at Theodred only a little less frequently, as warm food was consumed, and stories were told. Hama was mostly silent. Grima spent a moment watching him, watching his face, sunken into crags and lines and remoulded into shapeless grief by the firelight. He remembered – 

__

"…it's no good she's gone get the boy out of here get out grima don't look at your mother now its unlucky clean that mess up why did mother stop screaming where is the baby whats happening…"

- and experienced a rare, precious moment of genuine pity for the man. He dwelt in the sensation, rolled in it like a feather bed. Then it disappeared as unexpectedly as it had manifested, leaving him to himself again. Still, it had been a long time since anyone had touched him.

Perhaps a little investigation was warranted after all. 

***

Rade was quartered with the other Spearbearers in a long low barracks building toward the south wall of the inner part of Edoras. Grima needed nor offered any pretext to lurk about outside until the lieutenant rose before dawn and set out on foot, crunching though the thin layer of snow that had fallen in the night. The predawn chill was lessened somewhat by the cloud cover, but Grima still shivered inside his robes as he followed at the distance. There were few people on the streets in the dreary gloom, so he had to maintain a fair distance to remain undetected and non threatening. Rade's long legs carried him quickly through the streets, and once Grima lost sight of him, but quickly found him again as he approached the west gate to the city where he greeted the guards warmly. Grima shrank back behind an open door and grunted in displeasure. He was reporting for guard duty. Still, he was due to be alone for the next little while before his partner joined him. It was a tiny flaw in the guard roster that Grima had managed to engineer some time before. You never knew what a single pair of eyes in the predawn darkness could miss… The two weary guards trudged toward the Barracks as Rade shrugged a heavy cloak over his already snug winter clothes and took his position. The guards' footsteps faded, and the air became quiet and still. Grima shivered, aching a little in the cold. He exhaled clouds of steam and stamped his feet as quietly as he could manage. Perhaps he could return to his rooms for a few more short hours worth of rest. He cupped his hands before his mouth and warmed them for a moment with his breath, amused to observe Rade echoing his gesture. Then the young guard took a burning torch from its bracket and shifted it across to the opposite side of the gate. Grima's attention was immediately arrested. He observed sharply the young man stare out into the gloom intently, his breath misting around his face. Grima too stared out, cold forgotten in his effort to see what the guard saw. A rider approached, wrapped and muffled against the cold. The shaggy pony's hooves sank hock deep into the snow on the approach, kicking up great gouts of powdery snow. Grima cursed and shrank back behind his concealment as a second figure, cloaked and hooded, approached Rade and spoke a few words to him. He replied without looking away from the rider. Grima could not hear clearly what was being said. He crept closer, stopping behind a pile of produce crates stacked a little along the wall from the gate. From here he could observe the rider and the watchers, and hear more or less clearly what was said. The rider reached the gate and was helped from the saddle by Rade and his companion. Then the companion turned into the torchlight and pushed back her hood to reveal a head of long golden hair. Grima's breath caught in his chest. Eowyn. He stopped breathing altogether as the rider copied the action, pushing back hood and wrappings, and leaning into Rade's embrace.

Unless Grima was very much mistaken, which he very seldom was, the mystery rider was the girl, Leah.


	5. chapter 5

" I see that you made the journey successfully, Leah," Eowyn said, her voice as cold as the pre-dawn air. "You did not encounter any difficulties?"

"Leah,," Rade said gruffly. "What were you thinking to make such a journey in the darkness… in your condition?"

"There many things more terrifying than darkness, Rade," the girl said. Hearing her voice reminded Grima of the previous winter's festival, when she had sung a duet with Theodred, her long reddish hair catching the firelight.

"Yes, and many of them dwell in it." Rade was disapproving, but Leah laughed, silver and gold, and Grima saw Eowyn raise her eyebrows and give a small nod.

"We are all driven to take risks at times, Rade," she said, almost too softly for Grima to hear.

"Yes, but… your… condition," Rade attempted. Grima saw Leah turn away and take up her mount's rein.

"I'm with child, Rade, not made of fragile blossoms, liable to collapse and shatter at the slightest touch. Women have done much more with bigger bellies than I have." Her tone was reproving, but Grima caught something. Anger? Desperation?

Again Eowyn said something softly, and took the rein from Leah's hand, and tethered the shaggy pony. Leah did not respond. Grima gave a tiny smile. This expedition was more informative than he could have hoped. 

"You have returned only briefly, Leah," Rade said, his voice sombre. "A body has been discovered beneath the ice in Bakra's Cauldron. It is generally thought that it is yours."

After a moment of hesitation, Leah laughed, her voice silver and gold, genuinely amused. Grima saw Rade and Eowyn exchange glances.

"How droll! Truly?"

Eowyn cleared her throat. "It is a serious business, Leah. Your uncle Hama is stricken and grieving for you, although you still live."

There was no response from Leah, although Grima supposed she looked serious now indeed.

Eowyn's voice was grave. "I have protected you until now because you are a friend, and because you assured me that you were not acting from ill intent. Now is the time for honesty. You must return to the Hall with me and cease to injure those who love you, suffering in your absence."

Rade watched warily, glancing between the two women. "That includes me, love," he said, his voice almost lost to a sudden chill wind that sprang up on the Mark and raced toward the town. Grima smelled snow not too far off. 

"Come back, reveal yourself. I don't care whose child you carry. I will sue for your hand, and we can be married."

Leah, who was close enough to touch him, moved closer and laid a hand on his chest.

"What I do, I do from necessity. Rade, I thought you understood that. My Lady, I thank you for your support and bless you for it. I cannot return yet, although I assure you that I will return soon. When the babe is born."

There was a moment of silence, and Grima felt a snowflake tangle in his sparse eyelashes, then another. He peered past the crates and saw all three glance up at the sky.

"Well," Rade said roughly. "Come into the guard house. We have a short time until Derge reports to join me."

Leah gave him a smile that Grima saw reflected in the way his face lit, and knew that the argument was over.

Eowyn gave a curt nod and, with another glance at the lightening horizon and the dark snow bearing clouds, pulled her hood back over her head.

Rade and Leah turned to watch her leave and walk away toward the town, and as they did so, Grima caught a good glimpse of the girl's belly. He would guess her to be at least three to five months along, although he did not claim any insight into women's bodies, and mares were certainly different creatures altogether. However, she was certainly swollen. The couple disappeared into the guard house and closed the door. After a moment, Grima, moving quietly, approached the guard house and listened intently. He heard nothing but muffled sounds suggesting conversation. He could not make it out. Frowning slightly, he moved on to the pony, which moved nervously to the end of its rein as he approached, snorting great clouds of condensation at him. He waited a moment for it to calm, and stroked its nose briefly. He ran a hand down its neck and flank, keeping a wary ear on the guard house. Derge still had a few minutes to report, and was not notoriously punctual, despite repeated cautions. The pony was warm, as if it had been ridden for many hours, but not distressed as it would have been after many hours of hard riding. The saddle was light, and there were minimal supplies in the saddlebag – a flagon of water and a little bread. As well as the supplies, Grima found a small sharp dagger, which he carefully replaced. So, the girl had ridden through the night, not too hard. Riding the Mark in darkness was foolhardy, and only done by those able to defend themselves, or those desperate enough to go anyway. Grima knew that Leah suffered no lack of confidence in herself, but rather supposed that a kind of desperation must be driving her movements. Particularly for her to risk the life of her unborn child. That fact raised another set of questions that could be addressed later. He checked for any more indicators to her purpose, but found nothing. Where could she have come from? If she rode through the night, there were only two villages that she might have originated from – Drustan to the north, and Deeping to the northeast, both a relatively easy day's (or night's) ride from Edoras. Grima thinned his lips in thought, then glanced at the lightening horizon. A few stray snowflakes continued to fall, but he sensed that the real snow fall would not come for a few hands of time. Absently, he stroked the pony's nose once more and it nuzzled his robes. There was a purposeful noise from the guard house, a fumbling at the door, and Grima shrank around to the external wall, hoping that whoever exited would not immediately go to the pony. Heavy footsteps exited the structure and moved around the opposite direction to where Grima was hiding, toward the rail where a few mounts were tethered by the guard house. Rade, for Grima guessed that that was who was currently preparing a horse for departure, had closed the guard house door behind him. With a quick glance at the structure, Grima slipped past the pony and back to the road that ran to the gates. He could clearly see Rade slipping a bridle onto a horse. If Grima was quiet, he could slip past unobserved back to his original hiding space. Fate, however, had other plans. As Grima moved onto the road, Rade turned, and the two men regarded each other for a moment.

"Good morning," Grima said pleasantly, and walked toward Rade, who stood with what Grima thought was a remarkable degree of composure.

"Good morning," Rade returned, and turned his attention once more to the harness.

"It is a pleasant morning, for this time of year, I believe," Grima remarked as he drew even with the other man. Rade looked askance at him.

"I would have thought it too cold for your tastes."

Grima clucked his tongue. "It is true that I find the long cold of winter discomforting. We cannot all protect ourselves from the chill as well as this fellow here," he said, indicating the saddled horse. "However, I find the early mornings bracing for a stroll about the town. So quiet." He met Rade's eyes. "And absolutely nobody around."

Rade regarded him warily. Grima gave a tiny smile.

"Good day, Rade," Grima said, and walked on, slowly, enjoying a stroll in the cold, awakening city.

***

When he returned to the Hall, he entered via the front doors. It had always been a private pleasure of his, as most of his pleasures were, to enter the Hall thus. He allowed himself, just for a moment, to believe that he truly did belong here as the trusted adviser to the king. As he approached, he saw Hama in guard position before the doors. Although Doorwarden, Hama most often left the early morning duty to a younger warrior. This morning, however, he stood duty alone, and sombre faced. As he passed, Grima paused and regarded the large man carefully, head tilted in his customary gesture of attention.

"Good morning, Doorwarden," he said with a nod. Hama returned the gesture. Grima moved past him, and entered the chill darkness of the Hall

__

A/N: Many big furry thanks to Elderberry, without whose nagging you may not have gotten this chapter! Sorry Elderberry, I'll try to be a little more prompt in future. The next chapter shouldn't be more than a few days away. That's when it starts to get interesting!

~Tal.


	6. chapter 6

The creature came later that day, and perched on his window sill, ruffling feathers and preening until Grima approached and allowed the thing to flop clumsily from the sill to his arm. Grima winced as eight long talons dug through his layers of robes and pricked his skin. It was mostly crow. Mostly. There were the black shining feathers and a cruel beak topped by two flint hard eyes, but there was also something else indefinably unnatural - and there was a sense of kindred, for they were both Saruman's creatures, shaped to fit a purpose. The creature regarded him sharply and made a clucking noise, shifting its grip on his arm. Grima nodded. The presence of the messenger meant one thing, and one thing only. Deep laid plans were rising to the surface like fat in a rendering pot. Grima gave a small smile and produced a little jerked horseflesh from his robe. He offered it to the creature, which reached for it greedily.

"Feast now on the dried flesh of the nation, my friend, and soon you will be feasting on eyeballs and entrails after the coming battle."

The creature clucked once more, and shifted, flapping wide wings as Grima allowed it to shuffle from his arm to the sill once more. There was a tapping at the door, and a creak of the hinges as it began to open. Grima hissed, and the messenger departed in a flurry of black feathers as Rade edged around the half open door.

"What do you mean by this rude intrusion?" Grima demanded. Rade coloured.

"Forgive me," he said slowly, "but I must speak with you."

"And can you not wait but a few seconds for me to open the door to my quarters? You are not welcome in this room, Lieutenant. These are my private apartments. Leave immediately."

Rade hesitated, uncomfortable. "Forgive me, but I cannot. I must know –"

"What?" Grima interrupted, knowing full well what had forced the younger man into this situation. He waited for a moment, impassive, until Rade continued.

"I must know what you think you saw this morning. On your walk."

Grima could not stop the amused twitch from twisting his lips. What he thought he saw? Now could be the time to gain the young man's trust, for whatever future advantage. He was weak minded and too trusting, far too concerned with loyalty for his own good. And highly placed by Eomer's own side. Used carefully and precisely, Rade was valuable to both Grima and his Master.

"What I _thought_ I saw? Why, Edoras, sir. Edoras itself! I had eyes for no other mysterious lady than our fair city. Certainly not one arriving with the dawn snowfall at the west gate."

Rade's face fell a little. "Then you saw…"

"Nobody. Besides yourself. Why? Is there aught of which I should be aware?" He let his voice trail away, and the silence speak for itself, allowing a tiny smile to curve his thin lips like a fish hook.

Rade took the bait.

"Oh. I see! Thankyou, Lord Grima. Thankyou. I can see that you are a man of fine sensitivities and understanding."

Grima nodded, a small movement with only a certain degree of acquiescence. "Indeed. Who am I to interfere with young love? I remember well my own youthful exploits. However -–"" he said, little louder as Rade began to speak again. "However, may I ask where the lady is currently? I understand that the unfortunate Leah is to be removed from the ice today, and the resulting flurry of activity may lead to your young friend's discovery. If, that is, she is an unfamiliar face where it ought not to be."

Rade hesitated. "No, she is safe. She remains protected here until tomorrow's dawn when she departs for her own village once more. Now forgive me, sir, for I must depart. I have duties to attend to." He fidgeted a little in place, and Grima waved a hand at him.

"Of course, of course. I trust that you are content to allow the matter to rest?"

Rade nodded firmly. "Of course, and I thank you for your.."

"Delicacy?" Grima offered. Rade nodded again, once, then sidled around the half open door and, with a final glance at Grima, left the room.

In his absence, Grima pondered and planned.

***

The task, in the end, fell to the ice cutters. With bleak faces and sombre tones, the party, including Hama, draped and muffled against the morbid chill of the morning, left Edoras for the Cauldron. The snow, mercifully, had ceased to fall an hour earlier, else the expedition would have had to have been postponed. As it was, Wenthe eyed the leaden clouds, and grumbled quietly. Hama and the others rode in stony silence.

When they reached the Cauldron, in the afternoon, the cutters went to work immediately, while the two spearmen who had accompanied them set about building a fire from fuel transported on the back of a pack pony. Einal, Wenthe and their team ventured cautiously onto the ice, to where a slender, mottled hand, frozen and distorted, poked from the ice as if in greeting. Sharing a grim glance, they knelt as one, and began to mark their block.

Standing on the frozen shore, Hama watched them, their movements resembling a formalised kind of dance as they rose and knelt, marked and grooved, and repeated again. As the ice axes rose and fell, creating a hard, syncopated rhythm, he remembered that ice cutters sang as they worked, usually. Today, they worked in silence. Despite his resolve, he shivered. The initial shock of discovery had worn away days ago. He could now behave as if he were, once again, a warrior of the Meduseld itself. But the silence of the ice cutters made him shiver, as he imagined Leah's frozen features slowly coming to the surface.

Einal glanced up at the shrouded figure on the shore. Hama, as the cutter knew him, was a good man. A brave man. What he must be thinking now was anybody's guess. Einal returned his attention to the ice. His initial suspicion had been accurate – that only part of the body was trapped in the ice, an arm perhaps. The rest floated in the Cauldron's icy womb just below the ice. The cutters had marked three large blocks, next to each other, the centre block including the hand. The last block would be removed first, followed by the top block, so as to keep the body from shifting if the hand were freed too soon. 

***

Later in the day, Eomer and Theodred met inside a musty smelling stall in Theoden's own stable. The stall's occupant, a large bay mare with two white socks, shifted nervously and rolled her eyes, snorting, before settling once more. Eomer moved similarly, his tension creating creases radiating across his wide forehead. Theodred mirrored his cousin with a similar posture of unease.

"Is it really Leah?" he asked the taller man. Eomer glanced at him and looked away.

"I don't know," he replied, spreading his hands.

Theodred released an explosive sigh, causing the mare to shift again. "I swear to you cousin, on Helm himself, I know not what happened to her!"

"Peace, cousin, peace. Bridle your anger," Eomer said, quieting Theodred with a gesture. "I accuse you of nothing… I merely enquired."

Theodred's features assumed a sulky cast. "Well enquire away then, for I care little for the tart."

He never saw the hand that cuffed him roughly across the jaw. Eomer stood back from him, and rubbed his knuckles.

"Mind your tongue, _cousin_. Leah is the niece of the Doorwarden, who has saved my life in battle many times."

Theodred said nothing, but rubbed his jaw and looked at Eomer sideways through slitted eyes. The mare, disquieted by the dispute, swung around in her stall, and both men stepped out of reach of her hooves.

"I merely enquire, Theodred, as I am well aware of your history with the girl."

Theodred let out a bark of laughter. "History? A tumble hardly makes for a history, Eomer. You yourself have been guilty of that, as I recall, and I am not interrogating you for your past sins."

Eomer looked away for a moment, then back at his cousin.

"None of the women I have known are dead, cousin... But come, and join me in the yards. I have a new colt that needs breaking."

From his vantage point in the Hall, Grima watched them leave the stable together and head to the colt yards. He could well imagine what they had been speaking of. The two had been conspiratorial since the announcement of the discovery of the body had been made. There was little that occurred in the lives of these two of which Grima was unaware, but he could not remember an incident that could prompt such sudden tension. 

***

It became apparent that the girl was lying face down in the icy water, her arm twisted behind her, contorted. The cutters had removed the block above her legs first, and it lay on the shore, blue grey and murky. Then they had removed the block above her shoulders and head. Her long hair was tangled, sodden and ruined and too wet to be any colour but dark. From where he stood on the shore, close to the first block, Hama made out a swirl of dark red brown fabric across her back, and the twist in her torso as her arm stretched behind her into the final block of ice. Heartbreakingly, he had been close enough to make out the wet braid across the back of her head and the few brown and slimed flowers still caught in it.

As Einal and Wenthe prepared to heft the final block and free the body, Hama looked away. He heard a dreadful crack, and an awful sucking sound as the two halves of the ice block were pulled from the water. He looked back as Einal and the boy Elden, a rope between them, carefully pulled the body from the water. Hama made no advance as they laid her out on the ice, still face down, disentangled the ropes, and then gently turned her to lie on her back. Einal looked up at Hama, who forced his feet to walk forward. Carefully he knelt, and forced his hand to reach out and touch the cold, mottled skin, wiping a clot of hair from the dead girl's face.

Then he pulled back, whipping his hand back as though the girl had attempted to bite him. Einal looked at the Doorwarden curiously. Hama's lined face was pulled into shapes of shock and wonder. Einal glanced once more at the girl's stiff features, seeking a reason for the other man's reaction. She had been pretty enough in life. In death her features were a frozen mask, mottled blue and purple, her eyes half open. Einal cast his eyes down her garment, finding the stained rent where a blade had pierced her belly. He looked back up at Hama again as the man touched the frozen face once more.

"Its not her," he said shortly. "Its not Leah."

"Sir?" Wenthe asked from a short distance away.

Hama shook his head. "Its not Leah. Its not her."

"But the scar, sir?" Einal prompted. He wondered if Hama was unable to recognise his niece through his grief.

"They both had one. Some silly girl's pledge. Poor lass."

"Then who is it?" Einal prompted again.

"Hedda. Its Hedda, Leah's companion."


End file.
